


[GUY.EXE] ACTIVE

by Pagesandparagraphs



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Future friends, Gay, Glitches, I'll add more tags later on, M/M, Mitch is a scientist, Rating May Change, Scomiche, Scott is adorable, Song fic, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, guy.exe, hopefully i tagged the right joan, it's based sorta on the guy.exe video, scientist mitch, very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pagesandparagraphs/pseuds/Pagesandparagraphs
Summary: Maybe it's time to give up. Mitch's project has never quite worked; his creations either fall apart or turn into monsters. The only one that didn't fall into either category was still a failure. He's starting lose faith in the project all together. But he's come too far and he's too afraid that if he stops now, he'll have been right on the edge of success.What happens when his project finally works?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this is going to go but I really like this concept so I hope you enjoy

I can’t even remember how long I’ve worked on this project. I’ve lost track of the time. Countless hours, days, weeks trying to create the perfect man. Every time I got close, they’d fall apart. An assistant of mine suggested that I wasn’t making them human enough; that’s why they couldn’t live. So, I started giving them flaws, in a last ditch attempt to make him come alive.

At first, I randomized the system, just to keep it interesting. Kept the qualities I wanted, but anything left unspecified was fair game. They lived, just as I hoped, but they became monsters; apathy seemed to be a common trend. He’d be nice, but he couldn’t really relate to emotions. He’d usually also be quick to anger. One turned out to be incredibly manipulative. A charmer, which is a shame, but incredibly manipulative.

So, I started getting picky again. Only letting flaws I could tolerate (or that I had) slide. The last one worked perfectly; the catch was, he fell in love with someone else. I wasn’t the perfect guy for him, I guess. The realization crushed me.

I started to give up. Maybe I had made my expectations too high. Maybe they were right. I haven’t been on a date in forever. How much longer until I break and just start trying to date normal boys again? It got me hurt, but maybe it’s better than slaving away at a dead-end project.

My last attempt, earlier this morning, generated something different. 99.8% perfect. Not the highest percentage I’ve gotten, but it’s still very strong. However, I noticed something strange at the corner of my program. Every time I’d get close, the word **DEACTIVATED** would flicker for a moment, but almost always returned to normal. Otherwise, it left itself blank until yet another one fell apart.

 

This one, almost instantly, caught my eye. The red letters flickered out, and green ones took their place.

 

 

 

 

[GUY.EXE] **ACTIVE**


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah having a prologue is going to make the chapter numbers a little funky so don't mind that

“Mitch,” One of my assistants chides, pulling me slowly away from the computer. “We’ve been over this. You need some rest, especially since you tend to make more mistakes when you’re tired.”

I sigh, shaking my head. I smile halfheartedly. “I have my coffee,” I reply, holding up the mug. “I’ll be fine.”

She shakes her head, cursing under her breath. “Look,” She says, “I know that the Damien project fiasco hurt you; I fully understand why it did. But now you’re beating yourself up even more than normal. You need rest.”

I try to protest again, but I’m interrupted by a yawn. She raises an eyebrow at me, a hint of a smile on her lips. I scowl, glaring at her. I turn my attention back to my program, continuing to edit my formula. She puts a hand on my shoulder. I stiffen, pushing her hand away.

She laughs dryly. “You should be working on that song you came up with a little while ago,” She says. “Catchy tune.” I glance at her and she frowns. “You don’t play music or sing much anymore.”

I shrug, trying to come off as unbothered. “I get busy.” But it gets me thinking. Music was, and is, everything to me. Everyone ragged on me for it, saying I was meant for a ‘better career’ than music. It was mostly my obsession with science.

They changed their tune when they realized I had started the [GUY.EXE] project. They practically begged me to just become a musician. They stopped pestering me about getting a boyfriend, or getting married someday. They even said I should give up science all together. They told me this is madness; they know how I get. They knew I’d become completely obsessed, throwing myself into my work.

 

I didn’t listen to them.

 

I made it farther than they thought I would. They thought I would make anything come alive at all, not even for a moment. They were horrified when they found out. I stopped mentioning my experiments to them after that. I have other side projects, but this is my main focus. I’ve poured hours of work and research and sleepless nights into this project. I can’t just let it go.

I don’t talk about it at all though. I only told them about Damien, my most recent and most successful project. They were really happy for me, especially since I hadn’t told them he was one of my projects. But when he fell in love with someone else (an assistant who was mildly horrified when he first found out), I was heartbroken. They could see it in my face.

They comforted me, saying there are so many other guys out there. But they kept an eye on me for a little while after. I heard them whispering about how they were worried I’d turn back to my ‘pointless and insane’ project. They still don’t know he was just another project generated from my ‘pointless and insane’ program.

I’ve poured so much time and effort into this project, and it’s given me so much stress and heartbreak, I guess I just haven’t had time or energy for music. A pit seems to open in the bottom of my heart at the thought. I miss music. I miss how happy it made me. I miss writing love songs, thinking maybe there is a guy out there for me. I miss how naïve I was.

I accidentally made a song the other day, quietly singing to myself. My assistants weren’t pleased that I was singing about my project, but they accepted it, since I haven’t sang in quite a while. It’s a catchy tune, but it’s missing a harmony. It’s meant for at least two people. It’s meant for _my_ [GUY.EXE].

I realized I’ve zoned out, focusing on my nostalgia. I blink a few times as my assistant snaps her fingers in my face. She sighs, gently taking the mug away from me. “Sleep,” She says gently. “I’ll make sure the project continues running. Take a break.”

I try to protest again, but I don’t see the point. I don’t have the energy to continue arguing. I slowly rise to my feet, stumbling away from the computer. I haven’t been up in hours. My head spins and my legs wobble. My body feels like it’s made of lead.

I stumble over to the mattress I set up in the corner of the lab. I put it there so I wouldn’t have to walk all the way back to my room to sleep. I could just sleep in the lab, and get right back to work once I woke up. Yet another idea the assistants gave me side-eye for, but they agreed that it’s better than me feeding into my insomnia and staying up for days on end until I pass out.

I fall onto the mattress, my face pressing into it. I groan, pushing myself up weakly. I grab the blanket, which fell to the floor at some point. I turn to my assistant sleepily, my eyes already trying to close. She’s sitting at my computer, scanning over the screen. She occasionally opens one of the other tabs, reading through the notes.

Anger and panic flares up in my chest. My program is very personal to me. It’s like a diary; it’s mine and mine alone. This is _my_ project. _My_ [GUY.EXE]. _MINE._

I clench my jaw, balling my fists. “Don’t look at my program,” I hiss. “That is not yours to look at.”

She jumps, whirling around to face me. She looks at me in astonishment, then in mild fear. She shakes her head. “I was only just-”

I growl slightly. “Did I stutter?” I snap harshly. She flinches, shaking her head. I nod, my breathing getting heavier. “You only look at my program when I tell you to, and you only look at what I tell you to. I believe this has been mentioned before?”

She nods, her eyes downcast. “Yes, sir.” I nod again, stiffly.

“Good. Follow it.”

I lay down on my side, facing away from her. I hug the blanket close to me, curling myself up. Guilt starts to set in as the anger dissipates. I know I shouldn’t talk to her like that. But I also can’t have these people walking all over me and looking at what isn’t theirs. Sometimes you have to be a little mean.

Still, as I stare at the wall, my heart sinks. That’s probably why Damien didn’t love me. Maybe that’s why all my projects fail. I’m not good enough for them. If I could plug myself into the program, rewire myself to be the perfect boyfriend for him, maybe he would have stayed. Maybe the others would have worked.

 

Maybe I wouldn’t have needed the project at all.

 

I close my eyes, too tired to stop the hot tears from spilling down my cheeks. I pray that my assistant doesn’t notice. I don’t need her feeling guilty when it’s not her fault I’m crying. Hell, I just yelled at her. It wouldn’t be fair if I yelled at her then made her feel sorry for me because I started crying. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

Though my body protests, I shift slightly, looking towards the big test tube on the far wall. The lights are out; I’m not quite sure when they shut off. Inside the tube stands a man, one of my new projects. He isn’t fully assembled; he looks more like a mannequin. He doesn’t even have a face yet, which is mildly terrifying. It’s not as terrifying as my earlier projects. Now those men were horrifying in their beginning stages.

Still, I can’t help but stare at the test tube. I’m really starting to lose hope in the project. I can make humans, which is over half the battle, but they either end up monsters, or they leave me just like any normal boy would. Maybe making them human is why they left me. Humans don’t seem to want to stick around with me for too long. I can’t quite blame them.

In a way, the project has worked and failed. I can make humans, near perfect boyfriends (or, well, boyfriend). No believed I would get this far, and success seemed within my reach. But the point of the project wasn’t just to make new boys. It was to make a boy for me, a boy who actually loved me. And in that regard, all I’ve gotten is failure.

I keep telling myself that the next one may be different. The next one will be the perfect one. That I can’t give up now, because I don’t know just how close I am to success. But I can barely muster up the energy for that anymore.

 

I just don’t want to be alone anymore.

 

In the middle of my thoughts, I feel my consciousness slipping. My brain doesn’t quite want to shut down, but it’s beyond exhausted now. I’ve worn it out again. I feel my lips move, murmuring, but I can’t hear if I made any sound.

With doubts and worries still cycling through my head, I fall into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 2

The next morning, when I wake up, I notice my assistant is gone. There’s a new cup of coffee next to my keyboard with a bright yellow sticky note attached. All it says, written in large black letters, is ‘DR. GRASSI’. It’s almost laughable. I never got a doctorate; my assistants just took to occasionally calling me Dr. Grassi. I guess it’s a respect thing, or something of the sort.

It takes me a moment to get the energy to get up. I rub my eyes, making my way over to my desk. My stomach grumbles, but I try to ignore it. I make sure the parts are set up before sitting down at my computer. I take a sip of my coffee as I type in my password.

The program flickers to life, the screen temporarily blinding me. I laugh quietly to myself, shaking my head. Searching the screen for a moment, I find the tab I’m looking for. I click on it, opening one of my subfolders. I initiate the building sequence to finish up the physical body.

I watch the loading screen for a moment until it says that the sequence has started. I don’t like being in the room during the building sequence. I got security camera for a reason, and it isn’t just because if any of this got stolen or damaged I may actually kill someone. I usually have a few of my assistants watch the project, just to make sure there aren’t any glitches in the system.

I slowly make my way out of the room, taking another sip of my coffee. I don’t feel like eating right now, so I might as well clean up. I lose track of the days. I don’t remember the last time I showered. I don’t like thinking about it. It feels more gross the longer you think about it.

I make my way to my room, taking some random clothes from my closet. Then I wander into the bathroom, setting my coffee and clothes down on the counter. I stretch, cracking my back. I roll my shoulders and neck, sighing.

I peel off my dirty clothes, turning on the shower. I shiver at the warmth of the water as I step in. Still, I feel much more relaxed. I wash myself slowly, nearly falling asleep standing up multiple times. I don’t feel the need to rush. It’s rare I take anything slowly anymore, especially if it doesn’t pertain to my projects. I eat quickly, I wash quietly, hell, I practically sleep quickly.

Once I’ve completely cleaned myself, I slowly shut the water off, stepping back out of the shower. I dry off, putting new clothes back on. It feels nice to wear fresh clothes. They don’t seem to cling to my skin nearly as much. I look in the mirror, washing my face again. I brush my hair afterwards. After a moment’s hesitation, I brush my teeth. It’s pointless, since I’ll continue drinking my coffee right after, but I’m not going to have my teeth fall out. Can’t risk it, not even once.

When I finally leave the bathroom, I take my dirty clothes to the laundry room. I lean against the washing machine, watching it idly. It’s vaguely entertaining in a way, seeing the clothes go around and around. I don’t realize I’ve been staring until one of my assistants taps me cautiously on the shoulder.

I turn slowly, regarding him idly. He smiles at me weakly. “The building sequence is finished, Dr. Grassi,” He says. I snort, patting him on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” I reply. “And you can call me Mitch. I’m hardly a doctor, kid.”

All he does is smile, a little nervously. I make my way out of the room, heading towards the main lab again. I glance at the test tube, stopping in my tracks. Oh _no._ This one is cute. Like, really cute. My heart stings a little looking at him. I always get more attached to the cuter ones; it hurts more when they fall apart.

He’s got shiny blonde hair and slightly tanned skin. He has a few tattoos I don’t remember adding. I must have done it while I was near passed out one day. I raise an eyebrow when I realize that the tattoo sequence is still running. I glance at where the tattoo is being drawn and instantly look away again, my cheeks heating up. I don’t think that was my idea. Still, it’s possible.

He’s got a bit of stubble and he’s a fit guy. Still, nothing about him is too harsh. He’s extremely easy on the eyes. I wonder what eye color he has. For now, the eyes are closed, pretty eyelashes occasionally fluttering a little. That happens sometimes, though I’m not quite sure why.

Still blushing, I go to my computer, opening the ‘humanity’ program. This is the make-or-break part of the program. While its main function is to give him a personality, its sister function is to start the whole project up. It gives him the ability to breathe, to eat, to blink, to make facial expressions. It starts up his brain, so he can think and talk and dream, etc. It starts up other motor functions as well. On top of that, it starts up his heart, and lets the blood flow through the body. That’s usually the part that doesn’t work quite right.

Not to be dark, but that part failing makes it easier to clean up. Less blood on the floor, and it doesn’t sting as much. It’s like he just fell asleep. Just asleep.

I scan over the program, just making sure that I didn’t leave out any of the qualities I want. I know his flaws, and I altered the flaws program so it doesn’t give flaws like the last ones. I don’t need another manipulative one. Especially not this one.

There are only a handful of randomized flaws. Those are the only flaws I’ll have to figure out myself. I figured it’s better this way. It leaves some mystery, and it makes me feel less creepy about knowing nearly every facet of his personality. Besides, it makes him feel more human. You have to learn some of someone’s flaws, no matter how well you already know them.

After double and triple checking to make sure I didn’t leave anything out, I take a deep breath. The doubts swirl around in my mind again, no matter how hard I try to block them out. I click ‘start’ and the computer processes the file. About a minute later, the percentage pops up on the screen.

 

99.8% perfect.

 

Not the highest percentage I’ve gotten (Damien was one of 3 99.9% perfects), but still a very strong number. Another button pops up at the bottom at the screen. It’s to clarify that this is what I want to test out. It’s in case I click on the wrong file when I’m deathly tired or if I want to go back and edit something.

I hesitate for a moment, looking over at the test tube again. Tears threaten my eyes. He looks nothing like Damien, yet he gives me this sense of familiarity that Damien did. Not all of my projects give me that sense of familiarity. I probably blended features of people I know again.

Finally, cautiously, I press the button to continue. It comes up with the prompt to flip the switch. I glance at the switch on the wall, sighing. I get up, flipping the switch harshly. The lights darken in the room and the tube lights up. I look away as the man starts to twitch.

I happen to glance at my computer, not paying it much mind until I notice something change. I see the glaring red **DEACTIVATED** flicker like normal. That’s not what catches my eye. Almost immediately, the red letters are replaced with bright green ones. My jaw drops; I’ve never gotten the word to change. Not even with Damien.

My heart starts racing. I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen. I have to keep reading the word over and over, praying this isn’t just my desperate mind tricking me into thinking it changed. I have to know it’s real.

 

An assistant happens to walk into the room, looking at my surprised expression in alarm. “What’s wrong, Dr. Grassi?” They ask, walking over to the computer. They gasp too, mirroring my expression. There, in bright green, it reads a simple message.

 

 

 

 

[GUY.EXE] **ACTIVE**


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A C T I V E

I laugh in astonishment, shaking my head. I’m only snapped out of my reverie when I hear a dull thudding on the tube. I snap my attention to the man, my eyes widening. Blue eyes stare back at me, crinkling as he smiles a little. He knocks on the glass again and I remember that I flipped the door to the other side due to too many guys just falling out.

I hurry over to the tube, twisting it around so the door is in front of him. He starts to press against it again just I’m opening it. He tumbles into my arms, yelping slightly. I jump, yelping in surprise myself. I look down at the man, who has quietly started to laugh. He shakes his head, looking up at me. I meet those pretty blue eyes again, practically melting. I feel myself smile, tears flowing down my cheeks.

The man’s happy expression turns into a worried one as he stands up straighter. He’s still holding me by the forearms. At first, he struggles to talk. He temporarily looks puzzled, trying to make the sounds. After a few moments, he finally manages to speak. His voice is hoarse and hesitant.

“Are you ok?” He asks. He scans my face worriedly. “Why are… why…” He chews on his lip, trying to find the words. “Why are you crying?”

I sob, shaking my head. I hold him close, making him grunt in surprise. “Happy tears,” I choke out. “Happy tears, babe.”

He’s silent for a moment, but then he laughs a little, hugging me back. “That’s good,” He says, his voice getting a bit steadier. “I was scared you were… were upset.”

I shake my head, laughing. “Not at all,” I assure him. “I’m not upset at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

He nods, rubbing my back reassuringly. I close my eyes, taking the moment in. I sob quietly again. The man runs a hand softly through my hair, chuckling quietly. I sigh, relaxing against him.

After a long while, I pull away. I sniffle, wiping my tears away. I smile at him and he smiles back. He starts to say something, but then he frowns. He hugs himself, shivering a little. “Jeez, it’s cold in here,” He comments.

I snort, starting to say ‘wonder why’, but I make the mistake of looking down again. The man follows where my eyes quickly looked away from and he laughs a little. My cheeks burn as I turn, grabbing one of the robes from the wall. I don’t quite know how tall he is, so I can’t quite give him real clothes yet.

I quickly hand it to him, only briefly looking at him. I notice his cheeks have reddened as well. Though his hands shake a little and his fingers move slowly, he puts the robe on.

I smile shyly. “Better?” I ask quietly. He nods, smiling back.

“Much better.”

I stare at him for a moment, looking him over. He shifts, his cheeks heating up again. Still, he’s smiling at me and my heart flutters seeing it. He’s looking at _me_ like that. _Me._

My assistant clears their throat awkwardly. We both turn to them, our cheeks turning red. I forgot they were in the room. They smile slightly.

The man extends his hand out to them. They look at me hesitantly before shaking his hand. I know what the look was for. _Damien._

But the man just smiles, shaking their hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you,” He says. “What’s your name?”

My assistant blinks in surprise. “Joan,” They reply slowly. “My name is Joan.” They smile softly. “What’s your name?”

My eyes widen. I didn’t give him a name. I’ll probably have to just come up with one right now. Before I can speak, the man starts talking, to my surprise.

“Scott,” He replies, chuckling. He glances at me. “My name is Scott.”

My jaw drops. Scott. I’ll admit, it suits him. But… “You named yourself,” I say dumbly. He laughs, clapping once.

“Yeah?” He replies. “Is that a problem?”

I shake my head quickly. “No, no,” I assure him. “There isn’t a problem. I’m just… surprised.”

Scott shrugs, chuckling. Joan looks between the two of us for a moment before smiling slightly. “I’ll let the others know,” They say. They wink at me. “You should get Scott settled in.”

A flicker of doubt goes through my mind. It must show on my face because Joan catches it. They shrug. “He’s lasted longer than most of the others.”

Then they leave the room, nearly sprinting down the hallway. Scott and I are now alone. Heat slowly creeps into my cheeks as I look down at my feet. I shift my weight awkwardly. I haven’t had to do this in a long time.

Luckily, Scott starts the conversation. “Where are we?” He asks, looking around. I chuckle.

I open my arms. “Welcome to the lab,” I say. “This is where I do all my experiments. It’s practically where I live, too.”

He nods, still looking around. “Like me,” He says. “I’m an experiment.”

I blink my eyes a few times in alarm. I splutter, unsure of how to respond. “I mean,” I say finally, “you are… but…”

He laughs. “I woke up in a goddamn test tube,” He points out. “Besides, I can read, you know.”

My cheeks heat up as I quickly glance over at the still-open [GUY.EXE] program. After a few moments, I regain my composure. “That’s just not the first thing they say,” I rephrase.

Scott hums. “Fair enough,” He says.

After a moment, my eyes narrow. “Also,” I add, a small smile on my lips, “since when did you know swear words?”

That makes him laugh his twinkling laugh again. I like making him laugh. It sounds pretty. “Swearing doesn’t necessarily mean someone isn’t intelligent,” He replies. He shrugs. “Besides, why wouldn’t I know them?”

I think about it for a moment. “Fair point.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he softly asks, “So, what happens now?”

I pause, unsure of how to answer. “Well,” I admit, “I’ve never gotten this far.” I scratch my neck. “I’ll probably just try and get to know you better, maybe jot down measurements and stuff like that.”

He smiles slightly. “What about the project?” He asks. He glances at the computer and then at the tube. “What happens now?”

Now I really don’t know how to answer. I have other projects, but this project’s my biggest and my longest running. I’ve poured so much into this project, and now, it’s complete. I don’t know what to do now. What _am_ I going to do?

Scott shakes his head. “Not the best time to ask,” He says. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

I shake my head. “It’s a valid question,” I say. “I just…” I stop. Scott puts his hand on my shoulder and I sigh. “I just don’t know,” I finish quietly.

He nods. “I get that,” He says. My stomach grumbles and I wince. He raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly.

“We should get something to eat,” He says. “Then you can ask me all the questions you want.”

I smile. I take his hand, pleased with how it feels in mine. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner! I already had this written out but I hadn't found the time to actually post it. I swear I'll catch up with my stuff eventually lmao


	5. Chapter 4

I chuckle lightly as Scott slides into the booth next to me. “You know,” I tease, “there are two seats for a reason.” He laughs, shrugging.

“I wanted to sit next to you,” He says simply. He puts an arm around me, rubbing my shoulder. My cheeks heat up and I smile shyly. I rest my head on his shoulder, humming.

I freak out a little when it’s our turn to order, but Scott (bless his heart) just quietly asks me what I want and tells the waitress himself. I smile sheepishly as she walks away. “Sorry,” I apologize. “I don’t… I don’t know why I freaked out.”

He shrugs. “It’s alright,” He says. “Is it an anxiety thing?” I nod slowly. He nods to himself, humming.

We don’t talk much, but it’s a comfortable silence. Scott idly rubs my shoulder, occasionally lifting his hand up to play with my hair. I smile to myself, tracing designs with my fingers on his thigh. He seems pleased by it.

Once we’ve gotten our food, that’s when Scott starts talking again. “So,” He says, “tell me about yourself.”

I blink. “What do you want to know?” I ask.

He pauses. “What’s your favorite color?” He asks. I snort.

“Small talk route, ey?” I tease. He chuckles a little. I think for a moment. “Chartreuse,” I reply finally. “I’d say that’s my favorite color.”

He grins. “Noted.” He hums. “I think mine would be either blue or green.”

I nod. There’s a small silence as we continue eating. Finally, I break it, shaking my head. “Jesus fucking Christ this is awkward,” I laugh. “Small talk has never been my thing.”

Scott shrugs. “I’m interested,” He replies. He chuckles. “Yeah, it’s a little boring, but it’s nice to know these things.”

I give him a small shove. “Sweetheart,” I tease. He laughs.

“Nice pet name,” He replies thoughtfully. “I like hearing you call me that.”

I blush slightly. “Noted.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Scott quietly asks, “Can I ask you about myself?”

I give him a puzzled look, but reply, “Sure?”

“Do I have parents?” He asks. I blink in surprise.

“Well,” I reply slowly, “one of my assistants volunteered to be your adoptive mother. Her and her husband are your parents, by technicality.”

He smiles brightly, his eyes sparkling. “I can’t wait to meet them,” He says. “Are they nice?”

I nod, smiling. “Trust me, they’re the sweetest,” I assure him. “They lost their own son a few years ago and I think this will really help them, too. They’re amazing parents.”

He nods. “Next question.” He chews on his lip. “Do I have a last name? I can’t think of one.”

“Hoying,” I reply. “That’s their last name.”

He nods again, smiling a little. “Hoying,” He says experimentally. “Scott Hoying. I like it.”

I giggle. He gives me a puzzled look at and I shake my head. “Sorry,” I say, “you just sound so adorably confused right now. It’s just really cute.”

He gives me a lopsided smile in return. “Do you know everything about me?” He asks, shifting a little. He laughs nervously. “I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.”

I shake my head. “I know a lot of things,” I reply, “but I don’t know everything. I figured it was better that way, and it makes me feel like less of a creep. There are a lot of facets of your personality that I don’t know.” I smile slightly. “I’ll have to learn them along the way, if you don’t mind sticking around for that long.”

He laughs. “I’m not going anywhere,” He assures me. He nods. “I am sort of glad you don’t know everything. The thought made me kind of uncomfortable.”

I nod. “That’s natural,” I reply. I chuckle. “I’d feel the same way if I thought someone knew literally everything about me.”

Eventually, we get on the topic of music, and that’s something we can finally talk about for a while. Scott doesn’t know much music; he only really knows what I play in the lab. I start rambling about other groups I know while he starts looking them up on the phone I gave him. He listens politely, occasionally asking questions.

Occasionally he’ll hear something playing in the restaurant that piques his interest. I notice in mild bemusement that he’s started writing down artists and songs in a note on his phone. He genuinely seems interested in music, which makes me extremely happy. It’s nice just rambling to someone about music for a while. I was kind of afraid he wouldn’t like music, which is fine, but then it would get awkward when I’d want to talk about it.

At one point, we get onto the one topic I was dreading. “What about your music?” Scott asks, smirking a little. “You said you were a musician, right?”

I blush, looking away. “I guess so,” I mumble, embarrassed. “I used to be obsessed with being a musician, but everyone wanted me to pursue science.” I laugh bitterly. “I think they regretted that when they realized what I’d begun to do.” I shrug. “I guess I gave up being a musician a long time ago.”

He frowns. “Do you miss it?” He asks.

I laugh quietly. “Wholeheartedly,” I reply. I sigh. “It brought me so much happiness and it was an outlet for me. It was something I could use to take out my frustration and anger, but I could also use it to make people feel happy and inspired. I felt… powerful.”

Scott smiles, resting his chin on his palm. “You should pursue it again,” He says. “It makes you happy, right?” I nod slowly. “Then you should try it again! I bet you’re an amazing musician.”

I blush again. “Thank you,” I mumble. “Still, I’m a bit out of practice.”

He shrugs. “That’s alright,” He says. “Practice makes perfect.”

I smile slightly, but then I frown again. “I can’t make a living off that though,” I say, disheartened. “At least I make some money off of my other projects. I can pick it up as a hobby, maybe, but I’ll never get to the level I wanted to back then.”

Scott frowns, shaking his head. “Of course you can make a living off of it,” He protests. I give him a look at he shrugs. “Sure, it takes luck, but it’s not impossible. Besides, no one said that it had to be lavish or anything.” He gives me a hesitant smile. Quietly, he adds, “Maybe you can do that now that the project is over.”

 

The last sentence hits me like a train. I’m still struggling to believe that the project worked. I’m still skeptical, since we haven’t really started dating yet, so I can’t be entirely sure. But Scott is right. The project is practically over.

 

I could do music, in theory. I haven’t done it in so long. How would my parents react? They’d never wanted me to be a singer; they said it was a waste of time and with all the pop artists nowadays, they warped the ‘pop’ image into “you’ll turn into something that you’re not meant to be”. But, they were so disappointed when they learned what types of science projects I was doing in the career they wanted me to have.

As if reading my thoughts, Scott smiles softly. “It’s your life,” He says gently. “Nobody can control it, not even me, not even your parents. If it’s what you want to do, what do you have to lose?”

I bite my lip. After a long moment, I say, “I’ll think about it.”

He nods, still smiling softly. I can’t help but smile too. We don’t talk much after that; we just don’t know what to say. When we finish our meal, Scott asks where we’re going. I hesitate. There are so many places I want to show him. He’s never really seen the world; there’s so much for him to see.

Still, I know I still have work to do. “Back to the lab,” I reply. “I still need to take some notes.” I smile slightly. “Get you settled in, too.”

He smiles, pulling me closer to him. “Whatever you say.”


	6. Chapter 5

“MITCH.”

I snap my head up, looking towards the door. Joan, out of breath, is leaning against the doorframe. They shake their head, laughing breathlessly.

“Scott,” They say, panting. “Scott won’t get down from the rafters.”

My eyes widen. “How the fuck did he get up there?” I ask, getting up. Joan shrugs.

“He wanted to see if he was strong enough to pull himself up,” They say, walking with me down the hall. “I guess he just climbed up there, but now he won’t come down.”

I roll my eyes, sighing. I hurry into the room, looking up at the ceiling. Sure enough, hanging upside down, is Scott. He smiles at me, waving. I put my face in my hands, cursing under my breath.

I laugh slightly. “Scotty?” I ask sweetly.

He hums. “Yes Mitchy?” He asks, giggling.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He shrugs, swinging a bit. “I wanted to climb up here,” He replies. “Gives me something to do.”

I frown. “You don’t have anything to do?” I ask.

He shrugs again, not meeting my eyes. “I’ve been in here a week now and we’ve barely done anything together that wasn’t work related,” He mumbles.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I hadn’t realized just how much work would go into recording how well the project was working. I’ve had to take so many notes, measurements, organize them. I’d left Scott practically by himself. It’s not fair for him.

“I’m done now,” I find myself saying. “What do you want to do?”

When I open my eyes again, Scott is grinning brightly. “I want to go to a music shop,” He says. He thinks for a moment. “Or a concert. Or both. Both sounds like a good idea.”

I pale slightly. I know why he’s bringing it up. Still, I smile up at him. “Let me get changed first. Then we can go to a music shop.” I raise an eyebrow, chuckling. “And you’d better be down from there when I’m done changing.”

He laughs, clapping his hands together. “I will,” He promises. I shake my head at him one more time before leaving the room, quietly laughing.

Joan walks with me, eyebrows raised. “Why does Scott want to go to a music shop, of all places?” They ask. “And Mitch, you’re nowhere near done for the day. Why did you say that you were done?”

I groan. “I can’t just leave him alone,” I reply. “I don’t even truly know if we’re dating yet. It’s not fair to him to just leave him cooped up and alone.” I take a deep breath. “I have to be the perfect guy for him too. Neglecting him won’t help that.”

They’re silent for a moment. Finally, they quietly say, “You two don’t need to be together all the time.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s the whole problem,” I reply. “We’re not really _together_ all the time. If I’m with him, I’m usually jotting down notes and barely even speaking to him. I’m not treating him like a real person. Besides, he needs affection; this world is still new to him. He barely even knows me yet. You can’t blame him for wanting to be around me.”

I get back to my room, turning to Joan. “I get the concern,” I say carefully, “and I know I still have work to do. I’ll get it done when I can. I can’t always put work ahead of everyone else.”

“You used to,” Joan points out, a bit of edge in their voice. “What’s different now?”

While I’m taken aback, I know I shouldn’t be. Guilt rises up in my chest. “Never too late to change,” I reply after a moment. “I never said it was right of me to do it before.”

They look like they’re about to say something in retort, but they remain silent. Finally, they shrug, mumbling before walking off. I watch them walk down the hallway, sighing to myself. Joan is right; I did neglect a lot of people to pursue my projects. I never said it was right; this guilt isn’t new.

 

Never too late to change, right?

 

I close my door, resting my head against it. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to clear my head. After a long while, I finally move, changing out of my work clothes. I don’t have the energy (or the time) to put anything super flashy on, so I just settle for an oversized sweater and jeans. I still look cute, so it’s fine.

As I’m flattening my hair back down (static electricity is a bitch), there’s a quick knocking on my door. “Mitch?” Scott asks. “Are you ready?”

I hum. “Almost, Scotty,” I reply. “Just need to fix something really quick.”

Once I’ve finally gotten it a bit tamed, I go over and open the door. Scott smiles at me before glancing around my room. “Why is everything of yours so pretty?” He asks. I blink in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Your room is pretty, you’re pretty, your lab is pretty…”

My cheeks burn. I smile shyly, laughing a little. “You’ll get used to it and jokingly call it all ugly all the time,” I reply. “But, thank you.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Why would I do that?”

I shrug. “Banter,” I reply. “Jokingly saying that I’m ugly and stuff like that when you don’t really believe it.”

“But wouldn’t that make you upset?” He asks. I almost sob at the innocence in the statement.

“Not really,” I reply. “You just can’t do it too often or I’ll probably think you’re being serious. I’d tell you if I was really hurt by it anyway.”

He nods slowly, processing this. “Noted.” He shrugs, dropping the subject. “Are we ready to go?”

I grin, nodding. “I’ll drive,” I say. I give him a teasing shove. “I don’t know if you can drive and I don’t want to figure it out the hard way.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling. “I don’t think I do,” He replies. “I’d like to learn though.”

I chuckle. “Maybe when all of this craziness is over I can teach you.”

He smiles. “I’d like that.”

Scott talks practically the whole way there. He starts rambling about the lab and the music shop we’re going to and the music he’s been listening to; practically anything he can think of. I almost pull over just so that I can fully pay attention to the conversation without crashing the car. When we finally get to the shop, Scott practically hops out of the car.

He takes my hand, pulling me towards the door. I laugh a little, blushing at the touch. “Someone’s excited,” I tease. He laughs.

“I want to play all the instruments,” He says. He smiles hopefully at me. “I want to hear _you_ play all the instruments.”

My cheeks get redder. “I don’t know how to play every instrument,” I point out. Scott shrugs.

“So?” He asks. “Neither do I, but it’ll be fun!”

I smile at him, my heart about to burst. He’s just so fucking _cute_. He pulls me over to the drums first, his eyes bright with curiosity. He sits down at the seat, spinning around in it for a minute. I giggle at him, shaking my head.

He makes me try every instrument in the shop at least once. Even when I tell him it’ll be bad, he just smiles and says he wants to hear me anyway. I may not be good, but hearing him laugh happily makes up for it. And seeing him attempt (and usually fail) to play the instruments is the cutest thing.

I lose track of the time. We’ve practically been through almost everything in the store before I get a text from one of my assistants, asking me when I plan on coming back. They tease that I’ve just run away with my ‘prince charming’ to live in a castle. I blush deeply, scowling slightly.

Sadly, before I can put my phone away again, Scott reads the message over my shoulder. He laughs, wrapping his arms around my waist. “That’s a cute idea actually,” He says. “Can we get a castle?”

I almost choke on my own saliva, my cheeks getting even hotter. “I don’t think I have the money,” I mumble in reply. Scott shrugs, pressing a kiss onto the back of my head. I shudder slightly.

“We should get back, though,” I add. “It’s getting kind of late, and we’ve been gone for hours.”

Scott grumbles. “Do you still have stuff to do?”

I sigh. “A few things,” I reply, “but they can get done tomorrow if need be.”

There’s a moment of silence before Scott chuckles. “We should go out more often,” He says. “This made me happy.”

I hum, smiling widely. I hold his hands, brushing my thumb against his knuckles. I could get used to this. “It made me happy too,” I reply.

 

I mean it too.


End file.
